


A Minor Obsession

by saeriibon



Category: Ace Combat
Genre: Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink (vaguely???), Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saeriibon/pseuds/saeriibon
Summary: in which trigger notices count's hands and count notices trigger and their thoughts evolve
Relationships: Count/Trigger (Ace Combat)
Kudos: 7





	A Minor Obsession

_ ‘Count has nice hands…’ _

It was an innocuous thought at first.

* * *

The sun had already set and the dim, fluorescent lamps of the mess hall flickered over the motley group that had claimed one of the rickety bench tables in the corner.

Trigger sat at the end, watching the other members of Spare prepare for their second round of poker.

It was Count’s turn to deal, lithe fingers deftly shuffled the deck of cards in a way that reminded Trigger of a magician. Gaudy, but skilled. Mesmerizing. Maybe Count noticed him watching or maybe it was just Trigger’s imagination, but he took a minute longer than usual to shuffle the deck, uncaring of the obvious glares of impatience from the others.

Finally, Count dealt everyone's hands with quick, graceful flicks of the wrist.

The sly glance and smirk he spared Trigger, however, went unnoticed.

* * *

The next time was during a briefing.

Count was sitting a few seats over from Trigger, idly tapping his fingers on the table to a made-up beat.

Compared to the hum of the projector, the rattle from the old ceiling fan, and McKinsey droning on about the usual, it was a pleasant sound.

Trigger looked over, part of him wondering if he ever played piano.

Unlike before, Count stopped his movements once he saw Trigger staring at him. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his face, index and middle finger splayed in a 'V' shape that framed his lips as they twisted in a cocky grin, tongue darting out between the two digits.

And as soon as it happened, it was gone.

The two wordlessly exchanged a moment of eye contact. There was that teasing glint in Count’s eye, a raised brow, and Trigger became increasingly aware of the heat gathering in his cheeks.

Thankfully, the scraping of chair legs and shuffling of boots around them meant they were dismissed and Trigger took the opportunity to retreat first.

* * *

A couple days later, they were in the hangar, tending to their planes.

The shade within didn't do much to stave off the summer heat. Trigger couldn't even wipe the sweat from his brow without getting more on it from each swipe of his forearm. Fed up with one particular mark that refused to be washed from the canopy of his F-16, he plopped himself down in the cockpit with a dejected sigh of acceptance.

He thought it was a songbird at first, but the whistling sound that met his ears came from Count who was sauntering around his Su-33.

He was probably looking for any damages sustained from their last sortie, but the way he lazily lifted his arm and idly traced the bottom of the fuselage meant he was stalling for time, considering their next “assignment” was mopping the floors of the mess hall.

Subconsciously, Trigger mimicked Count’s movements, tracing his fingers over the back of his other hand. Before, Trigger saw them be quick and flashy, then teasing and vulgar, but this time, Count’s hands moved with a slow and refined grace, almost reverent, in a way.

Consciously, Trigger wondered how they would feel upon his skin, tracing the curves of flesh and bone and-

_ ‘This heat is really getting to me, isn’t it?’ _

He collected himself and went back to work before Count could notice him staring again.

* * *

"Can't believe they're putting pilots like us on cleaning duty… Couldn't they be bothered to hire a janitor or something for this? Sheesh…" Count complained out loud. 

Trigger simply shrugged, mopping the grime from the cracked tile floor.

Just the two of them were tasked with the mess hall while the rest of Spare was split up to cover other areas, and Trigger wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not. On one hand, it was quiet and peaceful, barring Count’s gripes, but on the other hand... 

Trigger’s pulse thudded in his ears as he stole quick glances at Count’s figure, the way his veins and knuckles tensed as he gripped the handle of his mop. Conclusions were all too obvious to draw and distractions were hard to come by in the large and empty room.

“Do you have a problem with me, or is staring at people like an idiot a ‘you’ kind of thing?”

Trigger mentally cursed himself, “N-no…” he mumbled and hurriedly turned around, mopping a spot of floor that he had already cleaned.

Count sighed in annoyance, “Doesn’t really answer my question, you know.” He waited for a reply, but Trigger continued in silence. “Tch. Think you’re so cool playing the quiet and mysterious guy… Or maybe you’re jealous ‘cause a murderer like you can’t keep up with my record. Whatever.”

“I‘m not jealous…” Trigger whispered, trying to push down any hint of indignation in his words.

“So what’s the deal then?” Count leaned against his mop.

“Ah…” Still turned away, Trigger took a shaky breath, “Y-your, uh… hands…”

Count’s brows furrowed incredulously, looking down at his palm as if to check that it was still there and then back up at Trigger. “What about my…” Count mumbled and shook his head, “Did you have a heat stroke or something back at the hangar?”

“I don’t think so… B-but what I mean is that… they’re nice and… yeah,” Trigger trailed off as a blush crept up his cheeks.

“Well, unlike some people here, I understand the importance of personal hygiene, so thanks for noticing, I guess,” Count shrugged, nonchalantly returning to cleaning.

Trigger’s grip tightened with a huff, “I-It’s not  _ just  _ that they’re clean… It’s… their shape… how they move- how  _ you _ move them. I-if that makes any sense,” he added quickly. He heard Count hum in acknowledgement, the silence following doing nothing to quell the hammering in his chest. Seeing as he wasn’t going to get any other response, he softly sighed, dunking his mop into the cloudy water of his bucket. “S-sorry if I-,” sheepishly, foolishly, bringing his gaze up towards Count, Trigger did his best to swallow the dry lump in his throat. His eyes tracked the languid strokes left in the wake of Count’s fingers as they ran up and down the length of his mop’s handle, slowing near the end before going back down again.

Count purposefully ignored Trigger, but the smirk on his face was telling enough that he knew exactly what he was doing. Even if he was the one giving the show, there was something so endearing about Trigger, the way the tips of his ears turned red, how his gaze would flick around behind darkened lashes, how he would fidget in place, belying a mix of embarrassment, curiosity, and arousal, that made the depths of his core coil and burn just the same.

Count’s mop was the first to clatter onto the ground as he grabbed Trigger’s wrist, tugging him along in needy frustration.

Trigger, still partially in a daze, wasn’t aware of what was going on until they exited the mess hall, towards the restroom. “W-wait, won’t we get in trouble if the guard comes back around and sees we’re not-”

“Then we’ll just say that we had to take a little bathroom break,” Count replied offhandedly. “It’s technically true, anyway. Now come on, age before beauty,” he facetiously bowed when he saw Trigger hesitate.

“I think I’m younger than you though…”

Count clicked his tongue, “It’s a joke, you-” he sighed, “Whatever, just get in here before anyone comes by.”

Trigger flinched a little when he felt Count’s hand on his back, warm and sturdy, ushering him into the single-stall restroom which was cleaner than the ones that the prisoner’s were often made to use. “This isn’t a senior officers’s bathroom… right?” Trigger turned to Count as he closed and locked the door.

“What, you wanna get dirty in the public restrooms? Didn’t know you were the type of guy to be into stuff like that,” Count teased. “Loosen up, will you?” he added when he saw Trigger glowering at him.

“That’s… kind of hard to do, given the circumstances,” Trigger loosely folded his arms.

Count chuckled, “You scared?” He was tempted to elaborate, but figured that if he wanted Trigger to stay, then the ribbing would have to be kept to a minimum. To his surprise, Trigger nodded his head demurely at the rhetorical question. “Well… don’t worry about it, okay?”

Trigger blinked at the gentle tone of those last words and even Count seemed caught off guard.

“Y-you know what I mean. Being tense will ruin the vibe.”

“Right…” Trigger took a deep breath, letting his shoulders go slack as he rested them against the wall behind him.

Count followed, fingers splaying by Trigger’s head, trapping him between his arm and body while he wedged a knee between Trigger’s legs.

With a quiet gasp, Trigger instinctively brought his hands up to Count’s chest to push him away. “C-Count…” he whispered nervously.

With Trigger’s hands still on him, Count leaned forwards, close enough so that Trigger could feel his heated breaths ghosting over his ear, “Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve been waiting to do this?”

Trigger gulped, “A-ah… I don’t know… I’m not sure… what to believe anymore...” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Count’s hand twitch. 

“... Guess I didn’t make it obvious enough, huh? Or maybe you really are just an idiot.” Count finally spoke after a pregnant pause. “So, you like my hands, right? What do you want me to do with ‘em?” With the one that wasn’t resting on the wall, he leisurely caressed Trigger’s thigh, chuckling when he felt both of them clench around his knee.

“I don’t know…” Trigger echoed, clenching the faded green fabric of Count’s flight suit, “I… just want… Just  _ touch _ me…  _ please.”  _ He grinded his hips on Count’s leg, voice cracking in desperation.

_ ‘Fuck, he’s cute when he’s like this…’ _ Count pressed a chaste kiss against Trigger’s neck, moving his hand from his thigh to unzip his flight suit. Underneath, Trigger’s plain white t-shirt clung to his skin, a consequence of Zapland’s heat, leaving nothing to the imagination. Reaching beneath the hem, Count gently dragged his nails across the slick skin of Trigger’s stomach, up to his chest, fondling one of his breasts, relishing the feeling of a nipple hardening under his palm. 

Trigger squirmed and mewled under Count’s ministrations, nestling his forehead into the crook of the other man’s neck. “Both…” he moaned, tugging at the sleeve of Count’s arm that still was propped against the wall.

“Righto,” Count smiled to himself when he heard a small giggle come from Trigger at the use of his catchphrase. The hand on the wall moved to Trigger’s back, pulling him closer and rubbing in broad circles.

Enveloped in Count’s embrace, Trigger felt like he was going to burst. His nerves ignited at the feeling of his flight suit slipping off his shoulders followed by his shirt, Count’s hands coursing over his torso with newfound fervor, intricately tracing every curve and divet of muscle, skin, and bone. The playful bites Count gave to his neck, his shoulders, and his clavicle elicited one heady breath after another until it felt like he couldn’t even stand anymore. However, he could not get respite, for each time his legs faltered, all it did was press his hardened member into Count’s knee more. “Ahn… hn… C-Count… my-” his complaint was silenced as Count sealed his lips with his own, salty skin mixing with the vaguely alcoholic sweetness of Count’s mouth. A high-pitched whine bubbled in his throat, but he accepted the kiss, hastily parting his lips to let Count’s tongue worm its way into his mouth. It was sloppy; a bead of saliva slid down from the corner of his mouth and dribbled off of his chin, wetting the back of one of Count’s hands that was preoccupied with massaging his navel. The other hand had moved up to grip the back of Trigger’s head, combing through his thick, black strands. Finally letting go of Count’s flight suit, Trigger entwined his fingers with Count’s flaxen waves as the pair held each other in place, exchanging shallow breaths and wanton moans. The hand by his navel drew lower, stopping just as the tips of Count’s fingers slipped past the waistline of his boxers.

That’s when they finally broke apart, gasping for air.

“Not… hah… bad…” Count smirked, wiping some moisture from his reddened lips.

“Mm…” Trigger more or less whined again as opposed to agreeing, far too focused on the pressure in his loins.

Pushing Trigger back against the wall, Count nipped Trigger’s earlobe, “Don’t worry, babe, I gotcha.” With that, he spit into his palm, reaching farther down and grasping at Trigger’s throbbing shaft and pulling it out from its fabric barrier.

Trigger immediately bucked his hips, driving his cock through Count’s grip more and causing him to shudder with a relieved gasp.

Pleased with the reaction, Count started to pump him in a way similar to how he was teasing Trigger with the mop earlier, down as far as he could to the base, then back up, twisting his hand around the head, mixing his spit and Trigger’s precum with each pass until his cock was glistening. 

“Hah… F-faster… ah!” Trigger had to brace himself as Count picked up the pace. “Ah- C-Count! I… I’m gonna… hah?” Trigger looked down in confusion when he felt the friction suddenly stop, but his arousal was rekindled when he saw Count’s member being held with his own.

“You don’t mind if I enjoy myself too, do you?” Count’s whisper melted into a stifled groan as he slowly rolled his hips, pumping both of their cocks in time with his own movements. Gradually, he brought himself to the pace that he stopped at, grunting with Trigger’s airy gasps as he became more and more lost in the sound of skin sliding against skin.

Trigger felt a pressure building within him as he desperately thrusted his cock against Count’s,  _ ‘This is… wrong… I shouldn’t… be doing this… but it feels… Count feels…’ _ He bit his lip, grabbing Count’s flight suit so tightly, he was afraid he’d tear holes in it. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but all that came out was a series of “ah’s,” growing in intensity and frequency.

“That’s it, baby… Hold on…” Count murmured.

A few more quick thrusts sent the two of them toppling over the edge, Count with a throaty sigh and Trigger with a keening wail, spurts of cum coating the former’s fingers. Panting, they held onto each other to stop themselves from collapsing to the floor. Unlike Count, who managed to collect himself fairly quickly, Trigger was still twitching and gasping, whimpering a little as Count withdrew his hand from his cock.

“Damn, Trigger. Couldn’t you at least  _ try _ to be quiet when you come?” Not sounding particularly upset, Count went to work cleaning himself off with some paper towels.

“S… ah… S-sorry,” Trigger mumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

Count shook his head, “C’mon, let’s hurry up before anyone realizes we’re gone. I do  _ not _ want to get chewed out by Bandog while I’m in a good mood for once.”

Trigger nodded, “Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 MONTH... 1 MONTH FOR A MEASLY 2,546 WORDS... A MEASLY PWP... WHY AM I LIKE THIS  
> i am so overcome with tiredness that i did not bother re-reading this for any errors so if there are any i'm sorry i just need to get this out of here i'm sick of having it sit in w.i.p. purgatory


End file.
